


The Debauchery of Trust

by limeta



Series: Warren World [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, First War with Voldemort, Love Confessions, M/M, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Smut, Sub Tom Riddle, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23435707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limeta/pseuds/limeta
Summary: Lord Voldemort likes to indulge himself from time to time.
Relationships: Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle
Series: Warren World [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685218
Comments: 1
Kudos: 50





	The Debauchery of Trust

In the ballroom of Malfoy Manor there are tables full of food and drinks to be enjoyed in great excess. Those who can stand are standing around; those who cannot are grandstanding instead.

The Dark Lord sips on mulled wine and chats with Bellatrix Black (soon to be Lestrange). She is his right hand in battle, but now she is just a comrade in arms that’s exhausted and wants to celebrate the New Year’s like everyone else.

Champagne flutes are overrated and it’s best to give everyone the poison they want, so it’s really a mishmash of drinks. Narcissa is drinking red wine whereas Lucius has taken a lager, that lightweight that he is. Propriety seems so far away once your life is in danger.

Abraxas locks eyes with Voldemort across the room. The man winks. Abraxas chortles into his own drink: juice vodka, because of an inside joke about how orange juice makes anything a healthy choice – when they both know it’s farthest from the truth.

He is being chatted up by Thoros Nott, asking for more money and more resources and more healers to be brought in. Their very own lord has suffered an injury this fine day. Him being alive is worth celebrating, alongside New Year’s. Abraxas is inclined to agree. He still keeps his eyes on Voldemort.

The man finally nods and Abraxas takes his cue to come over. His footsteps resound nicely on the marble floor. What music plays is drowned out by his presence. This is his home, this is his land, and the man sitting on a chaise longue with his feet draped across Bellatrix’ lap is _all_ his.

‘’Abraxas,’’ the man slurs his words, but he is the only one here that no one can fault for that, nor tease. The Death Eaters quake in his presence and lap up his words like the sweetest cider; Abraxas cares not for them like a soldier does. He gently caresses the man and whispers quite a few things in his ear. Enough, at least, for Voldemort to wish Bellatrix well for the evening and say he is retiring.

They walk to their shared room instead of disapparating. It won’t impede the wards, but vomiting does not make for a good beginning of their shared celebrations. Voldemort leans on Abraxas.

‘’You know, my dear, if you don’t wish to go –‘’

‘’It is my birthday.’’ Lord Voldemort is a creature of habit. This Abraxas will never dispute. ‘’We always do this on my birthday.’’

‘’Of _course_.’’ Abraxas opens the door and pushes his partner inside.

Sex is a delightful distraction from reality.

Their breaths smell of mulled wine, scented and made with fruit and spices that brighten and warm an otherwise cold December night. Both of their inhibitions are lowered this night. The air is filled with both dread of war and victorious celebration of survival.

Abraxas guides his unsteady companion into a slow, deliberate kiss. The taste of him, even after all of these years of going through the motions together, manages to impress and mesmerize Abraxas.

He's lost a lot of blood, but Bellatrix has forced potions down his throat so he's better, albeit still, Abraxas will be slower, gentler. It will frustrate him no doubt, but this is something they cannot compromise on.

Tom, and it will _always_ be Tom when they are together alone, quickens pace and makes short work of liberating Abraxas from his clothes. This has very little to do with what is to come and all the more to do with insulting Abraxas' dreadful fashion sense. That robe is gaudy in a purposefully unapologetic way.

He eases Tom on the bed, now his turn to vanish his combat robes. Abraxas runs an appreciative hand across Tom’s chest. He leans forward to plant kisses on his neck, relishing in the other’s flagrant desire growing. Abraxas’ other hand reaches downward and deliberately slowly gives a little more attention to Tom’s cock. Tom closes his eyes, surrendering himself to all sensation.

The kisses travel downward and Abraxas enjoys watching his pet twitch and react to everything. Tom, touch-starved that he is, finds even the lightest of touches pleasing. He grasps the bed sheet in his fists and curls his toes and Abraxas won’t reward such undisciplined behaviour.

Abraxas stops kissing him and drops his hand to the side, making Tom open his eyes and stare. Now that he has Tom’s undivided attention, he leans forward to whisper in his ear in an ungodly impatient tone: ''Welcome your Master, Tom. You forget yourself.''

Out there in the warren island he is the Dark Lord; out there in Malfoy Manor among his Death Eaters he is Lord Voldemort. But here? Here he is Abraxas' plaything. Well, not plaything per se. Those don't make nearly as satisfying sounds as Tom does when he kneels before the only true lord between the two of them. He takes Abraxas' hard cock in his mouth and runs his silver tongue in the most exquisite way.

Abraxas' hands grasp onto Tom's head, wrapping fingers tightly around brown hairs and _pulling_. It isn’t enough, of course. He's fucking the mouth of the most powerful mage of Magical Britain; of course he's going to thrust into it until he hears the man gag. That's the fun part of this arrangement.

Tom swallows, a he always does. They stay immobile for less than a minute, both trying to ride out what’s happened. Abraxas is trying to see clearly, his vision blurred by the magnitude of his orgasm. He glances down at Tom and sees him panting, some come smeared around his mouth. Abraxas wipes it off and licks his fingers, swallowing himself and his ego along with it.

The arrangements demands that Tom does not use his hands to bring himself pleasure while he brings it to Abraxas. Abraxas smiles when he realises that that is out of the way. He is in love with the Adonis below him: ''Good job, mon chou.'' He calls Tom that because the man finds the pet name undignified. He dislikes being called a cabbage. ''Do you think you deserve a reward for your hard work?'' The tone he uses isn't quite condescending, but it does toe the fine line between that and playful. It pisses Tom off. ''Do you, mon petit chou?''

It is a lord who thinks and decides. Tom can do neither whilst he is in this room, under these circumstances. This whole ordeal of pleasure and debauched trust is so he doesn’t have to think. Abraxas commands him to stand up from his knees. Tom obeys without a word.

His red eyes are shot wide open and he can easily be likened to a ball of tightly wound nerves seeking release. Abraxas lifts his leg up and rubs alongside Tom's arousal. Again, Abraxas asks: ''Would you like to come?'' His hand goes down and leaves ghostly touches across the shaft. Tom's face is alight with need. He tells Abraxas through gritted teeth that he will do as his master wishes and nothing else. Abraxas rather wishes for Tom to get back on the bed. The mere sight of him has gotten him back on track. Well, what with his fairy blood, it never takes him much.

Tom looks down at Abraxas' growing erection and whispers: ''Insatiable man.'' This earns him an amused look, and one that will end badly for such a mouth. Abraxas rather thinks he'll stuff said mouth with cock again as penance for that unseemly comment. He discards his initial plan and instructs Tom to lie on the bed on his back.

''I won't stand for such disrespect.'' So, Abraxas stops standing and moves to shove his cock back in Tom's face while the man's cock twitches in anticipation and great need in front of Abraxas. A session of soixante-neuf ought to do for tonight.

They've got to do a lot afterwards. Tom, never one to be one-upped, begins slowly licking Abraxas' cock with his tongue. He’s wrapped his hands around Abraxas' arse to better control the angle and the thrusts. Abraxas mewls and closes his eyes. The heat building in his stomach is indescribable. Who knew the Dark Lord is such a good cocksucker? Abraxas wets one of his fingers in his mouth first before kissing the head of Tom's cock.

His finger gingerly begins teasing the man's arse. Tom's breath hitches and that sends a pleasurable jolt through Abraxas. Once he pushes the finger in and envelopes Tom's manhood in his mouth, Abraxas decides to stop playing fair. It is about time he rewards Tom's patience and effort this fine evening by quirking up that finger in just the right spot. A few more times ought to do.

Tom hisses when he spills into Abraxas' mouth. There is no bigger compliment Abraxas can receive than to make Tom Riddle forget the English language and resort to use parseltongue. It speaks volumes, all while not mentioning them. Tom's orgasm shakes through him, but he need not fret; Abraxas is there to pick up all of the pieces.

They disentangle from their positions and lay in bed side by side. Each man is dazed. The room reeks of sex. Abraxas pumps himself off, enjoying the way Tom looks at him through half-lidded eyes. Abraxas chases his orgasm and finds it, angling it so he comes over Tom’s face.

‘’Eh.’’ Tom doesn’t appreciate that. He wipes his face off and blinks, his face drenched with disgust.

‘’What?’’ Abraxas realises that his moment of improvisation is ill received.

‘’Really? Are we sixteen year olds?’’

Abraxas scrunches his face up in warning. Tom chuckles. He has become one with the pillows and refuses to get up. Though, when Abraxas pushes him jokingly he hisses, not in pleasure this time – but in pain.

‘’Ah! Apologies, my dear.’’

‘’I nearly lost a limb.’’ Tom, and it’s still Tom here in this post coital high, decides to remind Abraxas of the magical war raging outside their little room. ‘’They killed Rosier, knowing he’d cast the shield. Moody didn’t waste time.’’

‘’Which arm was it?’’

‘’Wand arm.’’

Abraxas inhales sharply. There are no scars left, nor any show of the recent injury. Sometimes the power of magic leaves even him speechless. Abraxas pushes himself up on the bed and lays down so he can bring Tom into his embrace.

‘’I love you, my dear.’’ Tom dislikes pet names of all kinds, though this is the only one Abraxas is bold enough to say he doesn’t actively hate. All he gives Abraxas as confirmation is a small nod.

‘’We ought to get some clothes back on.’’

‘’Why ever for,’’ Abraxas flicks his wrist and both of them have a warming charm on.

‘’I’m tired, Abraxas.’’

‘’I know, I know, dear.’’

‘’This war was a mistake.’’

‘’Would you like to run away then? I hear parselmouth communities are known for protecting their own and handing out diplomatic immunities.’’ Abraxas isn’t only by Tom’s side to bring him off sexually; he is here to plan and to push those plans into motion. He may not know battle, but he knows world politics and how to strong-arm people into doing what he desires.

‘’I am insulted you would even dare to think that.’’ Ah, yes, this part is said for the sake of any legilimens that may breach Tom’s impenetrable mind for information. Tom is a creature of paranoia, as well. It makes him hard to love, at times, but it’s the bed Abraxas has decided to make so he will lie in it.

‘’Of course, I was silly to do so.’’

Tom lazes among the pillows and before Abraxas stands up to go wash up in the adjacent bathroom, grabs a hold of his arm, discarding his comfortable position to do so. ‘’Could you do that if I asked you? You have the resources for such a thing?’’

‘’You don’t want to know the things I have resources for.’’

Most people think that the greatest honour they can be bestowed upon by the Dark Lord is to keep his bed warm.

‘’I trust you to keep me in the loop if something comes up that can threaten me.’’

‘’I exist so these things _never_ come up.’’

‘’Oh, I am ever so sorry, Abbie, I’ve insulted you, haven’t I?’’ Tom sounds too pleased with himself.

‘’The next time I’m not going to bring you off.’’ Abraxas threatens and all of his threats come true. He lowers his voice and continues: ‘’I am going to make you beg me for it.’’ Inches closer, Tom shivers when Abraxas’ voice turns hot like molten magma: ‘’And then when you’ve begged me so sweetly, like I know you can- I’m going to tell you to turn around – and of course you will, because you _obey_ me without question. And then, my dear Tom, I am going to –‘’

‘’Fuck me.’’

Abraxas glares at him, beyond annoyed to have his monologue interrupted. ‘’I am the one that sets the scene, _Tom Riddle_. You follow whatever I tell you to do.’’

‘’It is my birthday. Come and fuck me, Abraxas. Forty-nine is nothing to sneeze at. Don’t I deserve something for my good behaviour?’’

‘’Good behaviour-‘’ Abraxas has never been more flabbergasted in his life. Tom uses this opportunity to pull Abraxas down into a deep kiss. Damn this man underneath him. He knowingly thrusts and Abraxas takes this as encouragement. He breaks the kiss to reprimand: ‘’You need to rest –‘’

Tom wraps his arms around Abraxas’ and embeds his nails into his back, hissing: _‘’Do it.’’_ They’ve been together long enough for Abraxas to understand what some of the hisses mean. The inflection helps, the seeping desire only adds onto the meaning.

‘’Fine.’’ Abraxas nearly spits. ‘’I’ll indulge you because you could have been crippled, but if you’re too sore tomorrow to do anything you are not to blame me.’’

Tom all but purrs in victory: ‘’But of course. Blind me, Abraxas.’’ Another thrust. He knows he is driving Abraxas mad. ‘’Fuck me until I can’t move. Fuck me until I finally feel something this fucking evening. I want you inside of me, I want to feel you taking your pleasure while I get only what you give me. Make me come just by your cock. You can do that, can’t you?’’

Abraxas’ voice is hoarse when he agrees to Tom’s desire. He stuffs Tom’s mouth with two of his fingers and tells them to get them wet. ‘’Consider this active participation.’’ Tom snorts out a laugh at that comparison, but he does comply. It won’t do him well not to have any lubricant.

Tom hisses when those fingers plunge into him, scissoring him open for Abraxas.

‘’English, Tom, speak English so I know if you’re hurt.’’ To punish him for insubordination, Abraxas stops pushing and prodding and rests his fingers just near the man’s prostate. He smiles like a smug, smug cat and waits for Tom.

‘’Go ahead, Abraxass.’’

Only then does Abraxas continue. Tom’s moans fill the room, followed by Abraxas’ grunts when he aligns himself to Tom’s opening. Once he’s slid in completely he grabs Tom into a kiss, deepening it with his tongue. He wants Tom to moan into his mouth like a wanton whore so he times his thrusts with his kisses. Tom pushes his legs backward into him so he gives Abraxas more room and a better angle.

They’ve gone through this song and dance too many times not to know how the other functions. Their bodies glisten with sweat and the warming charm has grown too hot, so with another flick Abraxas finites it. Tom breathes in relief at the gesture.

‘’Imagine if something happens,’’ Abraxas speaks and Tom lets him, waiting to see what else Abraxas can imagine (he’s the more creative of the pair, really), ‘’and hmm, _Bellatrix_ walks in on us. She sees you kneeling on the floor, her lord degraded to that of a servant. You don’t notice her –‘’

‘’I can notice her very well. I know where all of my Death Eaters are via the Mark.’’

‘’It’s a _fantasy_ , Tom.’’ Abraxas’ thrusts quicken. Tom is caught off guard by this development. Usually Abraxas takes this part of their liaison slowly, savouring each thrust, each moment of delicious friction. ‘’Stop hijacking them.’’

‘’Fine, continue. My apologies, Abbie.’’ And it’s always Abbie when Tom wants to apologize after he knows he’s done wrong. It is sweet of the man, this Abraxas will not dispute. He kisses Abraxas, too, and it isn’t demanding or actively destructive how their kisses tend to be.

‘’So, Bellatrix watches you sucking my cock like a good little orphan you are. Now, don’t pout, Tom, that _is_ what you are. It’s best to know you’re lesser than us purebloods.’’ Abraxas’ words come out raspy; he is holding back his own pleasure to get his point across. ‘’Perhaps I’ll give her to ride you, hm? Would you like for your General to fuck you senseless. I imagine she won’t take you seriously ever again. That’s something you wish to avoid by not sleeping with your soldiers. You’d only let me fuck you, wouldn’t you Tom?’’

They stop speaking, each person chasing their own pleasure. Tom forgets himself and moves his hand to grasp hold of his cock and pump. Abraxas allows him, not particularly caring anymore, nor being in a state of mind to think. When they come, they come together. Two bodies layered on top of each other, breathing heavily, and trying to blink past their haze of pleasure.

When they come back, or at least when Tom comes back, he asks: ‘’Do you want Bellatrix to join us? Is this why you mentioned her?’’

‘’It was an inspired moment of dirty talk, Tom. Don’t let the thought fester in your mind. Consider it already forgotten.’’ Abraxas knows Tom is reluctant to let women into their play. He’s always been wary of the fairer sex. The reasons why, Abraxas doesn’t wish to talk about. He knows, but he honestly wishes he doesn’t.

‘’We’ve had women before.’’

‘’Whores. People I hired. It was ages ago, a good decade or more. You didn’t know them. It wasn’t personal.’’

‘’We were drunk.’’

‘’I was still using.’’

‘’Those poor things, caught between the two of us so savagely.’’ Tom laughs.

Abraxas doesn’t find this suitable for laughter. ‘’Bellatrix is going to marry Rodolphus. Do not ruin her perception of marriage by doing this.’’

‘’You are right, as always.’’ Tom muses aloud. ‘’Do you remember that girl – I think you hired her in ’59. She sang.’’

‘’It was in 1957, for your birthday.’’

‘’She was lovely. That was a strange birthday. You got me high that time, too, didn’t you?’’

‘’You smoked one joint; let me be very clear here. I don’t call that endangering your inhibitions at all. I’d get you a boy toy for you to boss around if we weren’t worried for spies these days.’’

Silence stretches between them. Abraxas checks if Tom is even awake. He is.

‘’I don’t want to move.’’

‘’Oh dear Merlin, this again.’’

‘’But I am a mess.’’

‘’Do you want me to spell you clean, love?’’

‘’Would you?’’

‘’Lazy, _lazy_ man.’’

Once Tom smells like lavender and feels clean, he speaks, voice lilting in curiosity: ‘’Do you enjoy these trysts, Abraxas? You were very vocal the previous times.’’

‘’I have a lot on my mind.’’ Abraxas doesn’t appreciate Tom mentioning these things. Least of all the women he keeps bringing up. It is not a sense of jealousy that envelops Abraxas in these moments, but fear at being bad at damage control.

‘’I trust you, Abraxas.’’ Voldemort, and it isn’t Tom anymore because he’s moving to clothe himself back into his robe, looks at Abraxas and continues: ‘’I allow you to keep your secrets only if they do not endanger me.’’

‘’Of course, my lord.’’

‘’I allow you to make those judgement calls so I can focus on creating our world as it is meant to be. A world where it is not manhandled by the idiotic Wizengamot whose members are older than the Statute of Secrecy. Not to mention that wretched Mugwump of theirs who meddles in affairs he has NO understanding of. A forceful takeover really is the only way to gain power. Abraxas,’’ Lord Voldemort demands attention and Abraxas gives it to him in spades, ‘’do not make your secrets something I have to watch out for, as well.’’

‘’Of course not, my lord.’’

‘’I will ask you only once.’’ Voldemort runs a hand through his messy hair. In any other situation Abraxas would call the gesture sexy. Now he finds it annoying. He does not appreciate being questioned. ‘’Do you have anything to tell me? ’’

Abraxas has a lot of things to tell Voldemort. Not many of them are kind. He has made his stance very clear that he has fallen in love with Tom Riddle, not this persona born of an inferiority complex. However, as those two go hand in hand these days, he won’t ruin his relationship for a moment of truth.

‘’Nothing.’’

‘’Nothing that can be used against me?’’

Abraxas doesn’t answer right away. This ought to tell him enough.

‘’You have me to keep these things from you. If I tell you, my purpose is defeated. Do not ask me again. If you do, I will take that to mean you do not want my help.’’

Voldemort’s eyes are red with both anger and a sign of his soullessness.

‘’Trust me.’’

‘’I have, Abraxas.’’ Voldemort moves, but he stops, that anger melting into pain. He hisses, defaulting.

Abraxas discards this fight and goes to him, telling him to get back on the bed and rest. ‘’You took pain relieving elixirs.’’

‘’Of course you know everything.’’ There is some bitterness in the way Voldemort addresses Abraxas.

‘’Yes, and now they’ve worn off. Rest, please. I’ll fetch you more.’’ He helps Voldemort to bed and what dispute they may have had fades in comparison to real trouble.

An elf fetches the elixirs and Voldemort refuses to be fed them, so he takes them on his own terms, narrowing his eyes at Abraxas.

‘’You may have doubts.’’ Abraxas allows. ‘’But you must understand that I am your ally. That I have been your ally from the _beginning_.’’

‘’We were ambushed, Abraxas.’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’We have a spy in our midst and you’re the only one whose head I’ve not gone in. Our entire relationship is based on mutual trust, but how can I trust you when I think there is a chance you may be against me?’’

‘’If you believed in that chance you would not have let me into this room. I love you, Tom Riddle. I know you don’t understand love like the rest of us mortals do, but you don’t betray the people you love. I have secrets. They are painful. They are dangerous, but you have to trust me that I will never let them grow into something that can bring you harm.’’

‘’I understand.’’

The voice is cold.

‘’You don’t, but I appreciate your pretending to.’’

Abraxas leaves him to his rest. Tomorrow is a brand new battle.

Most people think that the greatest honour they can be bestowed upon by the Dark Lord is to keep his bed warm. Abraxas Malfoy thinks the greatest honour is being allowed to keep one’s secrets.


End file.
